


warm winds; keiji's song

by kouchoe (reedelios)



Series: maybe someday [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Character Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magic, Royalty, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:54:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24997900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reedelios/pseuds/kouchoe
Summary: The boy was about the same age as me, his messy black hair ruffled by the wind that seemed to envelope his entire body. Unarmed, eyes fierce. They were a shade that gravitated between a piercing blue and gunmetal grey. They seemed to change with each flare of light that they mirrored; boring into my own, I felt bare.A small smile touched his lips; I lowered my sword.“White and black hair,” he said slowly—deliberately. “Your highness, the crown prince?”I stilled. To recognize me at sight and stand before me, to be with me alone with no guards—I must be out of my mind to not be on defense.I met his eyes again. Earnest eyes.“You will not point your sword?” He asked lightly, his hands in his pockets.“I feel that there is no need to.”He smiled. “My name is Akaashi Keiji. I sing to the trees.”
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Series: maybe someday [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1801297
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	warm winds; keiji's song

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired from a prompt i had found in r/writingprompts, and it was a prompt that asked you to write about a person singing to the trees, and when that person died, the trees would sing to him in turn. i used it as a premise that inspired a story of magic and royalty, with bokuaka at the center. i hope you enjoy <3

When I was eight, I met a boy who sang to the trees.

It was during the time our country was at peace, the war having just finished. There were no more bombs and rebellions; my father had dealt with the enemies as best he could, killing when necessary, talking when called for. Like a child, I was hidden away through it all, sheltered and protected. I had just started training to fight—they say I was skilled, but I didn’t like it very much. There was no one who cheered for me.

I was strolling in the woods that day, wandering aimlessly, tired of the sword plays and the mundane. _There must be something else in this world, something more_ , I thought then. I felt plain. Nothing and no one was interesting to me. Duels were getting tiring, politics, more so. The noise of the palace was just that—noise.

I was the crown prince, next in line to the throne.

My father was still well and healthy, so I was not given much thought—not yet. They wanted me to learn etiquette, leadership. I know better. Sympathy cannot be learned within castle walls. In fact, it was riddled with cruelty. I can’t stand it.

Nearing a lake, a gust of wind surrounded me. Leaves danced; the water rippled. _It’s strange_ , I thought. _Why did the wind feel warm?_ I felt it caress my skin as it gently lapped the plants in a loving back and forth touch. The lake reflected the sky, a color and image so clear it would’ve put the gems in the castle to shame. I was about to touch the water when I felt a presence and turned, unsheathing my sword swiftly.

“Who goes there?” I called.

The boy stood in a loose white shirt and plain trousers, feet bare. _Not nobility?_

One step towards me.

I re-aimed my sword.

The boy was about the same age as me, his messy black hair ruffled by the wind that seemed to envelope his entire body. Unarmed, eyes fierce. They were a shade that gravitated between a piercing blue and gunmetal grey. They seemed to change with each flare of light that they mirrored; boring into my own, I felt bare.

A small smile touched his lips; I lowered my sword.

“White and black hair,” he said slowly—deliberately. “Your highness, the crown prince?”

I stilled. To recognize me at sight and stand before me, to be with me alone with no guards—I must be out of my mind to not be on defense.

I met his eyes again. Earnest eyes.

“You will not point your sword?” He asked lightly, his hands in his pockets.

“I feel that there is no need to.”

He smiled. “My name is Akaashi Keiji. I sing to the trees.”

That was our first encounter.

Many others followed. My strolls became longer and more frequent. Sometimes I go at the last breath of the sun, sometimes, the crack of morning.

I didn’t mind. After all, I did this for many, many years more.

When the sun sets, and even when it rises, I like to see his eyes engulfed in flames.

“Your highness,” he said, said ember eyes looking at me.

“Koutaro,” I replied.

“Pardon?”

“Call me Koutaro.”

He paused for a moment, looking over the lake. It was awash with oranges and reds then—a form of liquid fire, reflecting the sky above. The sun was setting; it was almost night. His eyes glowed.

“Koutaro,” he tried.

My cheeks warmed. “Yes?”

“Do you not wonder,” he continued, “What I am? Why I sing?”

“You are Akaashi, and your voice is beautiful. This much, I know.” I replied softly, looking at the trees he so dearly loved.

For once, he seemed flustered. _We’re even now_ , I thought, laughing softly.

After a few moments, he sang again.

I don’t know exactly what or who Akaashi is, but I do know a few things.

I know that he sings to the trees, and they respond to him. I know that the air around him is bridled with magic. I know he means no harm, and the forest was under his care. I also know that when he sings, he closes his eyes and his face softens, the emotions overtaking his usually laden back face. I know that when he laughs, he smiles at the very end of it, traces of his emotions lightly curving the lips he uses to sing the notes that gave life to his surroundings. I know that his white shirt contrasts his obsidian hair and changing eyes beautifully. All these I know.

I also know that his time is running out.

* * *

“Sing for me,” I said.

He looked up from his book. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I was made to sing for the trees alone,” he answered simply, his eyes going back to the lines he was reading.

“Then,” I leaned closer. “Should I become a tree?” I whispered, smiling down at him. His face was so close, my forehead almost touched his, his hair tickling my ear. I can see his irises; they were a bright teal, and as always, they shot through me, beyond title, beyond pretention, beyond skin.

He flinched in surprise, backing away. I held his chin with my thumb.

“Akaashi Keiji,” I said. “I, the crown prince, command you to sing.”

His eyes. Gunmetal grey, regarded me carefully.

He released my hand from his face, guiding it away.

“Bokuto Koutaro,” he replied. “I am an ethereal being. I cannot, and will not, be bound by his highness’ words, even if I so wish to be.”

_Wish to be?_

I pulled him to me.

“Then, what about me?”

“What about you?”

“If I bound you with my own words, from my own soul, as not a prince, but as a living entity—would that count?”

Akaashi smiled.

I leaned in, planting a delicate kiss on his lips.

“Akaashi Keiji,” I whispered, leaning my forehead against his. “I, Koutaro, wish for you to never leave.”

A soft, sad smile. A smile that said, _me too, I wish to give you all of it—my voice, soul, body, life—past, present, future, all of my sunsets and my sunrises, my wind, the air I breath_ — _I want to give you all of it_ , was what he wanted to say.

But all he said was, “Goodbye, Koutaro.”

And I never saw him again.

When I was twenty-two, I went to his funeral.

It was a one-man funeral, and it happened a full month after he left.

One month. Pure hell.

Nights full of calling out his name, _Keiji? Keiji.._ Nights full of wandering in the forest, yearning to hear his voice, singing gently, calling out my name. Nights full of intense need to see his eyes, buying every jewel with the shade of blue I find, throwing it away, realizing _no, Keiji’s eyes didn’t look like this_. Nights full of pure, undiluted pain, one I attempt to douse with as much alcohol as I can, nights feeling the pain anyway.

Nights when I say “Akaashi, Akaashi. Please, just say Koutaro again.”

And a few nights where the wind would rustle softly in response, holding me gently.

Those were the nights that kept me sane.

The funeral was a one-man funeral, and it happened a full month after he left. I brought blue hydrangeas, the flowers that reminded me of him. The color of his eyes.

It was just me, the lake, the trees, and the wind. This was how he always lived, and he lived happily.

“Keiji,” I began. “Did you know? I met you when I was eight, and I loved you in the full fourteen years I knew you since that day, the full fourteen years you stayed by my side.”

I sat down and put the flowers in the lake one by one, watching them float peacefully.

“You’re a god, aren’t you?”

I don’t remember much after that. I remembered the lake shimmering, and the trees laughing gently.

 _Good job, Kou._ I can almost hear you say.

_I guess a crown prince is no match for you, after all._

Dropping in the lake the last of the flowers, I started to sing. I sang to the trees, wind, and lake.

I have heard the same song all my life.

It only seemed right I sing for the trees he loved, too.

I was twenty-five, and on my death bed.

“Your majesty, your wife.”

I gave a swift nod.

“Bokuto,” she called, eyes red, face swollen. “You are refusing treatment?”

I looked out the window. The trees were especially lively today, the wind, not too cold.

“I have been dealt a fatal blow from the battle,” I responded, still looking outside. “There is no treatment that can save me.” Smiling weakly, I held her hand.

My wife pursed her lips, fighting back the surge of new tears. “I will get our son,” she said, putting my hand back to where it was.

As she left, I lay my head back against the bed. I specifically ordered to be placed in the left wing of the castle—the side of the castle that was within the woods.

By habit, I started singing Keiji’s song. It comforted me, somehow. On the battlefield or alone, it was like a comforting shoulder, a promise of things to come, a reminder of things I’ve lost. I never knew what it meant, but it comforted the fragments left of what I would consider my soul, but it fractured them more, too, splitting it up like broken glass. 

There was a gust of wind, and then I heard it: the trees outside were swaying, and they sung with me. For reasons unknown to me, I began to cry. The trees have never sung back to me, not like how they did with Keiji.

“They are thanking you.”

A gust of wind filled the room, and I am enveloped with a warmth familiar to my skin, one I felt once, when I was eight years old.

 _Keiji_.

I opened my eyes. He was sitting on the windowsill, smiling at me—a warm, small smile, a light curve, one I’ve always yearned to see, failed to touch, and kissed lovingly.

 _Keiji_ —

He was in his usual white shirt, trousers, and bare feet. A book in his hand, he was looking over at me, one leg propped up, supporting his arm.

He was glowing, in the literal sense. There was a light blue aura that surrounded him, and I can tell right away he wasn’t of flesh. He was the light. Opaque, glowing body—but his eyes remained piercing to the end.

He held out his hand, his small smile never leaving his lips.

“Koutaro, come.”

When I was eight, I met a boy that sang to the trees.

His name was Akaashi Keiji, and he sang to the trees everyday. I hated the mundane, the repetitive, the plain.

But I guess, I wouldn’t mind the exact same song, with the same frivolous tunes, and the same chants, sang to the same trees for the rest of eternity.

I wouldn’t mind, since it’s him by my side.

**Author's Note:**

> the prompt itself included death in the premise, so death was unavoidable. sorry for (kind of?) killing them both off though. this took me a while to publish because when i read it again, i cried. HAHA. i hope you enjoyed it. what did you feel? was it an okay read? do leave your thoughts. <3
> 
> im on twit! @kouchoe (anitwt)


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